The truth is that I could have posted this chapter sooner, but I couldn't find the time to add the final details before sending it to my beta reader. Eventually I did, though, and now I have two more complete chapters ready to go. Yeah, two.

But before going there, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Many thanks to my beta reader iratepirate for taking care of my grammar mistakes. I don't know what I would do without ya sis :o)


Chapter 8

Enemy is just another word for enema

Knock Out had always found the use of restraints on his interface partners arousing, but as he was taken unceremoniously through the corridor, on his back and strapped to a stretcher, he decided that, when the restraints were applied on him, it was definitely a zero fun situation.

And absolutely not stylish either. It was fortunate that the Autobots had no mirrors on their ceiling as he had in his own quarters; he was sure that being a prisoner wouldn't make him look any more handsome.

He wasn't scared, though. Being a Decepticon had many advantages, one of them being the certainty that Autobots didn't torture their prisoners or killed them just for amusement. That alone was a big win in his dictionary, considering that he had taken care of interrogation duty himself many times in the past and he knew exactly how – and in how many pieces – a war prisoner could end up. In his experience, the best questions were the ones asked with drills and saws.

"Careful, you oaf!" he complained when a protrusion on the floor caused the stretcher to bounce, and thus his head to bang against the surface. Bulkhead completely ignored him.

You beast… Knock Out thought. He didn't know much about Breakdown's sworn enemy, only that he was too ugly and that whoever was responsible for his paintjob deserved to be executed. To be honest, Knock Out had never given two frags about Bulkhead, but he supposed that the open animosity the fat and hideous Autobot had towards him had to do with being Breakdown's partner.

He tried to look backwards before realizing what he was doing, and hated himself for it. As all Cybertronians, Knock Out was magnet-proof, his body forged with the special alloy that protected the sons of Primus from the only curse of their metallic bodies. Still, he was certain that his own personal – and accursed – magnet was not far behind. He could feel it. He could feel her.

He was sure that he had nothing but contempt toward that Autobot, and yet her absence had proved to be utterly uncomfortable. Only her proximity was able to calm the disturbing thing boiling through his fuel lines, and that was as frustrating as it was intriguing. What had happened between him and the Autobot some breems ago still bothered him. It wasn't the disturbing feeling or not wanting to dissect her that was troubling him, but the realization that he had no control over such thoughts. Whoever had designed that accursed virus that ran through his and the Autobot's systems would have made a perfect Decepticon.

And his problems didn't stop there. Why did life have to be so complicated? He was charming all right, but sometimes fate insisted on showing him its ugliest face. Things would have been perfect had his plan worked: he would have the beautiful, severed head of the Autobot female in his laboratory, ready to be stripped to its basic components and thus to the composition of her half of the virus. But the coin had flipped in the wrong way, and it was he the one on his way to being used as a test subject. Once again, it was the kind of scenario he would have loved had he been the one holding the scalpels.

"Argh!" he complained again when Bulkhead insisted on demonstrating his poor handling of the stretcher. "For your information, you micro-brained scum bucket, being a little careful won't make your face look uglier!"

Bulkhead didn't respond, unless being even rougher could be consider a response. His tiny blue optics were staring ahead, and for some reason he was very upset.

Knock Out decided to review his first assumption about not being afraid when the double doors hissed open and he saw the repair berth waiting for him.

Uh-oh… Now he understood what his prisoners – and patients – felt when they were introduced to his dissection table. But at least they had the blessing of seeing something beautiful on their way to unbearable pain. He didn't; all that he had was a bunch of unfriendly, scratched Autobots waiting to put their servos inside his internals.

Knock Out had always been a very sincere robot, although he reserved that part of his personality only to himself. For example, he never had had any problem admitting that he was a coward when his survival or his finish – almost in the same order – were at stake.

"Wait! What are you going to do to me?" he honored his cowardice. "Wait, slag it! Do you have the slightest idea of how long it took me to get this wax job done?"

The yellow scout beeped scornfully at him.

"Break my nails?" Knock Out repeated, struggling with his ties. "I'll make sure to show you just how sharp my talons are when I tear off your face plates!"

Optimus Prime stood out. "Ratchet, proceed with the examination. The faster we finish this, the better."

Now that was a rude attitude. Knock Out decided that Optimus Prime had a set of beautiful tires, but that was all concerning his attractiveness. "Examination? Is this how you righteous Autobots treat your guests? I am offended!"

The restraints clicked open, but before he could try anything, Bulkhead grabbed him by the neck and lifted him as if he were a toy. Knock Out grabbed his hands and kicked him in the chest in an attempt to release himself, but it was no use. If at least he had had his Energon prod, then he would teach some manners to that loathsome trash compactor…

"Put him on the repair berth, Bulkhead," the Autobot doctor ordered coldly. Doctor? If anything, that old model could only qualify as junk. Knock Out couldn't understand why the Autobots hadn't melted him eons ago.

Bulkhead deposited Knock Out on the repair berth, although thrown down would have been a better term to describe the action. He hit the metallic surface so hard that his optical sensors had a partial loss of vision for some astro-kliks. They hadn't returned to optimal function yet when his arms and legs were already being shackled to the berth.

"These things are too tight! I swear it, if my paint job gets scratched, I'll—"

"Do you ever shut up?" Bulkhead growled, grabbing him by the helmet with a vice-like grip.

"Bulkhead, we will avoid the use of excessive force," Optimus Prime said calmly, as if his big lackey hadn't been crushing Knock Out's helmet. Still, the dumb oaf released him.

"Did you ever think about asking for my cooperation instead of forcing it?" Knock Out said, directing his angry gaze toward the Autobot leader. "I happen to have the same need for the complete composition of this virus!"

"You didn't seem very cooperative when you set Arcee up."

Knock Out turned his head toward his left, where three humans were watching from a near platform. The one that had spoken was a young male, Arcee's pet if he recalled correctly. The slim female that had photographed him was at his side. The third, small one to the right of the female seemed too insignificant to capture his interest.

"Only as a response to your own devious ambush," he retorted. "Or did you really think that I had bought the obvious trap you posted for me on that human forum? Please!"

"Is there a chance to shut him off before starting to open him up, Ratchet?"

"Not without affecting his flow of energy. We need him conscious."

"Can we at least deactivate his vocalizer? I can always silence him the old-fashioned way…" the green beast continued his rant, shaking his huge fist before Knock Out's face.

Knock Out found that remark highly offensive, even more than the fist threatening his handsome face plates. He had the most attractive voice of the entire Cybertronian race – and beyond, he was sure. But then again, there wasn't a part of him that wasn't perfect.

"What I said about avoiding the use of excessive force was completely serious, Bulkhead," Optimus Prime said severely before addressing the prisoner. "Knock Out, you were brought here because we need samples of the virus the humans infected you with. We have no intentions to damage you whatsoever."

"Correction: I was brought here without my consent. As for the samples, I would have appreciated a different approach rather that the masquerade you staged to capture me. In case you forgot, it's also in my best interests to find a cure to this virus."

The yellow scout chirped.

"Because I am a scientist, you dim-witted gasketroid! And far better than this rusted junk piece you call a doctor!"

That only gained him a laser scalpel applied on the inside of his elbow joint. It wasn't very painful, but pretty invading, and a firm reminder that he was about to be stripped down.

"Hey!" he directed his rage toward Ratchet. "Be careful with that! I know you're not used to it, but you're dealing with a first class assembly job."

Ratchet looked like he would prefer to be nursing Unicron than being there. That pleased Knock Out somehow, even though he knew, by his patients' experience, that it was not a good idea to mess with a physician.

His suspicions were confirmed when the laser scalpel deviated two micro-millimeters and caused a slight, yet disturbing scratch on his arm. The fragger had done that on purpose!

"Ouch!" he growled. "How dare you? Do you have any idea of what it took me to get that exact tone of red?"

It was as if his torturer hadn't listened. The armor of his arm was opened and Ratchet started to connect small fuel extractors to his exposed circuitry.

Knock Out decided to try a different approach. "Look, colleague… there's no need to go this far. I'm sure we can reach an understanding. I'm a physician myself. Release me from these shackles and—"

"Colleague?" Ratchet spat, finally addressing him. "I am no colleague of yours, you maniac. I'm a doctor, saving lives is my priority. Whatever labor you do is that of a butcher."

Knock Out grimaced. How dare that ancient piece call him a butcher? It was true that he loved to dissect his victims, but that was his art. The secrets of the universe were hidden in the infinite parts in which a living mechanism could be divided. Pain and science couldn't exist on their own.

He snorted. "Butcher? But of course, how could an old fashioned antique like you understand the beauty of modern science?"

"The beauty of modern science is that it values life, a concept that you could never understand, Decepticon," said a voice that could have competed with his concerning perfect harmonics.

The Autobot female stood out between her ugly comrades-in-arms the moment she stepped in; Knock Out could have sworn she had some sort of halo around her. The thing that displeased him was that she was frowning. She was always frowning.

He was out of words. Seeing her only brought back to his memory banks the moment in which he had been so close to kissing her. It seemed that the damn image would torture him for eternity.

Still, having her back in his line of vision was comforting. He had no doubt that she had chosen to keep her distance, but at some point she had felt the need to get closer. Of course, Knock Out would have preferred other reasons for her proximity than some alien virus. He knew that he was irresistible, but terrestrial chemicals acting within his frame was not precisely the reason he was looking for to increase his charm.

She was so close now that he could feel her energy field softly caressing his. His reaction was so subtle that at first he didn't notice, but a familiar tingle inside his chest plates announced that the unwanted invader had made contact and was creating a physical, intimate response. The warm feeling even managed to make him forget for a moment that five of his fuel lines were currently being drained.

"Any initial results, Ratchet?"

The Prime's serene, boring voice would have normally broken the momentum, but the increasing hum inside Knock Out forced him to stay behind the thin line between him and the Autobot female. Her eyes were staring at him severely, but yet he could see her inner struggle. They were both victims of the same curse, one that devoured them and turned their enmity into a joke. It was very confusing that his rational mind couldn't put his anxious spark in place. He hated what the sight of that loathed, beautiful femme was doing to him, but at the same time there was a part of him that was not displeased at all. There was a part of him that wanted her close. Her energy field so close to his wasn't enough. He wanted to feel her frame again, trembling beneath him as she couldn't control herself…

The momentum, though, was finally broken when the rusted Autobot doctor started to apply his laser scalpel on Knock Out's chest plates.

"And just what the slag do you think you're doing? That's my private zone down there!" he snapped, returning to his previous mood.

Ratchet paid no attention to him and continued his job. It was one thing to have a couple of his fuel lines drained, but to expose certain parts of his physiology that for certain reasons he was very interested in keeping covered…

"I can understand the joy of humiliating an enemy, but is this the way you Autobots protect your youngsters? In case you haven't noticed, there are children present!" he attempted his last resort, giving a nod towards the three humans staring from the platform.

"He's right," Optimus Prime said, turning to the sacks of flesh. "Jack, Miko, Raf, proceed to the common room. We will summon you once Ratchet finishes."

"Aaw, but Optimus…" the female complained, already with her pink communications device in hand.

"No further discussion, Miko. As much as Knock Out is our enemy, we have no right to act against his privacy. Go. Bumblebee will keep you company."

Privacy, really? And wasn't being opened up in front of a pathetic lot of Autobots an invasion of his privacy as well? That was not what worried him, though, but what was about to be revealed. Despise the needs the invading virus was directing right to the core of his spark, he wished the Autobot female would step back, even if just a little. Perhaps that would be enough…

But time and his own slagging mech-hood were definitely not on his side, because once Bumblebee escorted the humans out, Knock Out found that not a cyber-inch –literally– of his predicament had changed.

When his chest plates were opened and his spark chamber exposed, well… he just wished he was somewhere else.

Ratchet stared for a moment before grimacing with disgust. Knock Out had definitely had better reactions concerning the display of his awakened intimate circuitry.

"I should have guessed you are the kind of freak that would consider this arousing, you sick pervert!" Bulkhead spat, grabbing him by the neck and once again threatening to punch him.

Despite the risk of losing the smoothness of his face plates, Knock Out managed to turn his head toward the massive Autobot. "If I do, it's certainly not because of you, or this old model for that matter!"

He was going to include Optimus Prime in his rant when he found the blue optics that belonged to the cause and consequence of all his current problems. She diverted her gaze, apparently indifferent to what she had provoked, but Knock Out, as well as the virus, knew better.

"If you like to get your servos inside others' intimate circuitry so much, why don't you try it with your naughty little femme, Autobots? I'm sure her arousal could compete with mine!"

The shackle restraining his left arm creaked when Bulkhead tightened his grip on his neck and raised him from the repair berth slightly.

"SHUT. UP."

Knock Out didn't even listen. More than embarrassed and frustrated, he was furious. He had had enough of Autobots touching him excessively and blue optics both torturing him and denying him.

"Why don't you tell them, schöne Frau?" he cooed to Arcee, who kept refusing to look at him. "Tell them what happened. Tell them the kind of kinky scum you really are, how much you wanted me to frag you senseless, you filthy joke of a pleasure bot—"

The world exploded into an ugly shade of green as a very intense pain triggered several alarms inside his cranial unit. Had the Universe just collapsed above him?

Then darkness came, again, rescuing him from both the pain and the accursed blue optics that he couldn't erase from his mind.

To be continued.


Sooo… now the question is: How soon do you want me to update?

Let's do this. I'll update one of my other fics and I will get back to this one right after. I don't know… like in a couple of weeks?

Let me know if you enjoyed the chapter. See ya!